


First Time for Everything

by Dokusa



Series: The Canola Oil Market [1]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greasers, Alternate Universe - Human, Bar Fight, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Im terrible at research oops, New Yohk Citah baby, a cat and a monkey walk into a bar..., a story about a social era and location i know nothing about, pew pew pew, so many inaccuracies, violence and guns and all that fun stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dokusa/pseuds/Dokusa
Summary: The strongest bonds are forged in the hottest fires.And there is no inferno greater than the ones we set by accident.





	1. Etcetera

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like one of them middle aged white males who try a game of baseball even though it's been like twenty years.
> 
> This is a Greaser!AU around CaffeineFiend's character and mine!

When he didn’t follow through with the punch -- when his fist jerked back as if burned, eyes wide in surprise and perhaps a tinge of regret, like he couldn’t believe he came so close to hitting a girl -- Etcetera almost cried.  
  
Not out of relief, really, or at least not completely. No, the tears that burned the back of her throat were made of anger. She was angry at the world for its disapproving glares (“A girl greaser? _Really?_ What a waste”); at the day for being just shitty, and make no mistake, it had been just left of smooth; at herself for letting it get to her, getting wasted, and picking on the first easy-looking fellow at the bar; and especially at this complete stranger who definitely did not look cute, that’s the alcohol talking, for not taking the bait and giving her the fight she was itching for.  
  
It was a bad habit sure, but Etcetera was too dependent to care. Her words were as much a weapon as the Colt Python tucked in the waistband of her shorts, and like any other gun-slinging hoodlum slinking through these streets, she was more than happy to go off firing when the stress got too bad. Unfortunately, it was also when she _didn’t_ hit the target that the weight on her mind seemed to double.  
  
Swallowing her frustration, Etcetera tried again, her voice acrid and stinging and not missing a beat, “Give up that quickly? What, scared ya Momma gonna belt you when you crawl home?” She risked a step closer, enough to meet his glare with a cold challenge. His ginger hair was slicked back carefully, as is the way of their life, but a few locks had become tousled in his hurry to stand up. A third eye, drawn skillfully by quick, assured hands, gleamed darkly across his forehead. The ink was so black Etcetera wondered if it was really a tattoo, and had to resist the urge to reach over and check. 

“I don’t have a home.” The gritted comeback would have struck something sad in her if it didn’t sound so pathetic in the scheme of things.

Her hands almost trembled with anticipation, heart thumping eagerly.  
The boisterous voices of the other bar patrons, ignorant of the brewing conflict, felt muted as Etcetera leaned in closer, lips inches from the boy’s ear, pressing her luck on his cautious restraint.

“None of the unwanted ones do.”

Her whisper barely had time to clear the air when his shoulder buried into her chest and sent her staggering back, throat gasping painfully for lost breath. 

Etcetera smiled broadly, but with the way her chest spasmed in a brief coughing fit, it probably came off as a stricken grimace. _Finally_. She was starting to worry she lost her touch.

Before the greaser could throw another hit – though, to her slight disappointment, the way his body curved in and away seemed to say he was done – Etcetera countered.  
  
Maybe it was the drink he had, maybe it was the way she was almost doubled over a few minutes prior, or maybe he just wasn’t expecting a girl to fight back; either way, the elbow to his stomach was undefended and satisfying. Etcetera relished the thrill of a sharp joint burying in a soft area, and the following grunt of utter surprise and pain was better than any song she knew. 

She did not, however, enjoy the feeling of a grazing punch just past her ear, thrown off by poor timing and recent injury, probably, which left a dizzying sense of _Too close; way too close_ ringing in her thoughts. His rebound was admirable; the boy was up faster than she had been after having the wind knocked out of them, but anger had made him impatient, and the hits he tossed were sloppily aimed.  
  
It took what little speed she could manage in her inebriated state to dodge the next jab, but despite her lack of balance, it sailed by without a hitch. Etcetera was having the time of her life; his style was brute but swift, and with each increasingly violent move she could feel the stress of the day melt away.  
  
Vaguely she could hear something large shifting into their small combat, and a seemingly far off shout. Etcetera didn't care; her focus was on this fight, on this stranger and the way they could throw a right hook like it was sunlight. It was exhilarating. 

It didn't last.


	2. Monkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The written equivalent of Monkey with a water spray-bottle.

_“An’ I ain't gonna see either ya till yous learn control!”_

Monkey landed with a grunt, the rough, broken asphalt digging sharply into his back. Somewhere to his right came a heavy thump, followed by an indignant “Oi!”

Not trusting his breathless voice, he waved a few choice fingers in the bouncer’s general direction. The resounding boom of the heavy bar-door thrown closed barely made him flinch. 

For a few minutes – or perhaps an eternity, he couldn't quite tell – Monkey stared up at the neon letters that hung askew over the disheveled bar entrance and wondered how he managed to get there. The lull of the dim lights, the muffled laughter from inside… He almost dozed off in his exhaustion.  
Then the fluorescent sun went out, and Monkey grimaced as he blinked up at the girl’s Cheshire grin. Her face was wreathed in shadows, the bright pulse of neon color rimming the edges, but her eyes were bright, unfocused. 

“So you coming or what?”

Monkey stared in disbelief.  
“I’m not going anywhere with you; you’ve caused me enough trouble.”

He lifted his hand to wave her away, but between the drink that was making his vision swim and the smirk that crossed her mouth he feared it came off like drunken fly-swatting. The girl seemed partially affronted, like she was offended he’d tell her to piss off after she got them kicked out of the only bar this side of the river that tolerated their kind.

“Oh come on, get up. You can't lie here forever.”

He mumbled something that made her sniff crossly, but accepted her offered hand. Monkey didn't miss the way her teeth grit, as if biting back a hiss, and figured she must have used the shoulder he rammed. His stomach ached in sympathy.

“Thanks.” His grumble wasn’t convincing.  
“No problem!” Her smile wasn’t either.

Now all he had to worry about was standing on his feet long enough to get back. Despite the warm air, Monkey didn’t particularly want to linger any more so close to the southern gang territories. He was already bruised and ruffled; no need to add “mugged” and “murdered” to the list.

Blowing sharply through his nose, Monkey gathered himself together and stood up straight, hands automatically brushing down his jacket to straighten it. Even after getting the boot, let it never be said Monkey was without his pride. Or at least, something resembling it.

He didn’t bother a second glance back at those bright neon-letters before setting off down the grubby road, stepping heavily over its rough, cracked surface. 

“Hey, hey -- wait up!”

 _Oh, bother._  
Monkey got a few more steps in before an insistent grip tugged back on the elbow of his jacket.

With a flash of anger he wheeled about, raw annoyance screaming “I’m past done!” in his eyes, “What is your _problem_?!” 

The force of his growl must have took her off-guard, because she let go almost immediately, stumbling back in surprise. Something sparked low in his belly, and before he knew it a small inferno was burning through his veins. It felt like his blood was aflame. It felt terrific.

“I don’t know you! Fifteen other patrons but it was _my_ night you had to screw up! What kind of petty person does that? I bet you had a shit day, and because the queen has problems, _everyone_ else has to too, is that it? Are you _really_ that insecure?”  
  
Each word felt like a bullet in the target’s middle, and Monkey felt an odd sense of satisfaction when her oddly colored eyes widened, mouth hanging in a startled ‘o’. Even when a touch of uncertainty began pooling in his heart, it was doused quickly. The small explosion left him feeling lighter, like the fire had burned away some weight he didn’t know was there.

This time his wave was sharp enough to break the tension.  
"Forget it." His tone was dismissive, final. "I'm **done**."

Monkey left the girl where she was, head bowed, and for once, at a loss for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because all New Yorkers say "yous"  
> I'm a dialect connoisseur.


	3. Etcetera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Etcetera makes a big mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could I would write an entire book where every sentence was just an addition to a world of growing metaphors.  
> So. Much. Symbolism. I think my heart is collapsing with bliss.

It wasn’t a great replacement for a head, but Etcetera found a certain comfort in the way the pebble skidded across the black asphalt with every kick. The rasping score of rock-on-rock filled the silence in her head. She was afraid if the noise were to stop the quiet would become final.

Etcetera kept kicking the pebble along the path.

To her right gleamed the sluggish East river, thin moonlight, or whatever could wriggle through the dense cover of city light above anyway, tiptoed across the dark waters. The night breezes carried the scent of brine and sewage; a signature of the poor sectors. Etcetera breathed deeply, the foul stench burning the back of her nose.

But she’d lived too long in this murky air for it to bother her; instead, it was the tightness it put in her chest that made her breath hitch. _Homesickness._ She knew that, but she wouldn’t admit it. 

Across the river glittered a thousand lights; the never-ending glow of Manhattan. They flickered like candle flames, like the stars they buried every night.  
The constriction in her chest grew, and Etcetera jerked her eyes away from the faraway glimmer. The Great White Way, with its flourishing shops and homes that shone with health, seemed as distant as the constellations they faked.

_Stupid fat cats. Bet they wouldn’t even know what a dust bunny is._

And just like that the words started again, and Etcetera let out a shaky, relieved breath as thoughts flew like whirlwinds through her mind, a hundred plans a minute, a million quips and snarks.

At the time, she didn’t know how to respond.  
His fierce eyes, burning like star-fire had stopped her in her tracks. Etcetera had opened her mouth, but it was like scrambling for fading dreams; the harder she tried, the further the words slipped away. She’d never not have a comeback. It was unfamiliar; unwelcome. For a heartbeat, he had made the whirlwinds freeze. 

It terrified her.

The old road curved, like the spine of a sleeping cat, carrying her feet gradually away from the water and inland. Etcetera didn’t glance back until the shadows swallowed the riverside and the false stars that glittered like broken glass beyond. 

It didn’t take but one minute of trekking down that crumbling alley, her boots clicking like thunderclaps against the dry asphalt, for Etcetera to notice the heavy silence. The not-quite forgotten warehouse block was filed against the inner city glow in depressing hues; like a charcoal profile of a cemetery and just as empty. 

Her eyes traced each angle, like a critic. The southern territories were known for their rambunctious owners. No greaser could raise hell like the gangs of Brooklyn; and Etcetera flaunted that talent with pride. 

But tonight there was no one in alley. No drinking, no cards, no roaring brawls and shameless tries at seduction. Something interesting had call their attention. 

_Police?_ Etcetera froze, instinct pulling her out of the moonlight and into the shadows. But no, there was no one.

 _They must have caught a trespasser._ She finally reasoned, doubt swirling in her thoughts. _But an ignorant neighbor shouldn’t get this much attention. So what could they possibly be…?_

Etcetera was back on the main road before she had time to think it through, and her boots flew over the black stone to sprinting beat of her heart.

To her left the East river blurred, a thousand glittering lights winking across the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 more chapter left! Are you excited? I'm excited; I'mma finally be free to write the good stuff~


End file.
